the dreaded end. you can't even stand to be my friend.
remember our first "date"? you in bed early, yet I stayed late.
your friends adored me. you were too drunk to remember me.
have you a clue why you were naked in my sight
on our so romantic first night?
it wasn't because I am just that ******* hot.....
it's because your bladder could hold not.
and our last date? and every one inside our state...........
your friends compared my coolness to being greater than yours
and now all of my madness and passion just gets ignored.

You must not like someone being better than you.
Loving more than you.

Ten days ago we held hands
we walked through the desert sands and landed
I wrote you a song, more than candid, it rang
as the day long, I sang, in your head over and over
Seventy two times you heard your lover-song.
Nine days ago you couldn't wait to embrace
the thoughts that flushed your face while my whispers sang
As you pushed through your work day
waiting to be enchanted by your lover
over counters, under covers, atop a car or in the bar
wherever it could be that my hands tickled your skin
outside and within all you wanted was for those words to be real
off the paper and off my lips to feel my words by way of passion.

Then the irrational hits started tipping the ship
that was waiting at the end of the desert.
Eight and seven days ago we held hands
as the ***** sands blew through our air
I tended your illness and kissed your despair waiting for the tide to fall
through it all we walked to the end of the deserts edge.
Holding hands I saw the upcoming ledge and worried under the sun
reminding myself of your promise to not run.
Six days ago we held hands and when my foot slipped
my heart ripped
I tripped and told you I was to fall.

Five days ago I was let to fall with no hand holding mine at all.

The pad of my thumb sits on your face
It fits in that place
where your brow and cheek bone meet.
Your mouth submits to the taste of my skin
It gets my attention.
Those thin lips harbor a chase to cure
The abstention you know I endure
Until I retire the entire set of rules
I've laid out, wether weeks or months,
In this case, hours, your goal will be completed.
Because defeated isn't in your vocabulary
I'd even consider it rarely.
You win.
Which is a win-win.

When one wakes
and takes on more exhaustion
than before they've slept...

When one shakes
and the stakes doubled in depression
than before they've wept...

When the moon hides
in fear it cannot any longer please
the eyes of illusion and beauty...

When soon the falling tides
crash down, go and slam, stronger, to tease
the lies of disillusion of your cutie...

When everything crushes your skull
bones like a ghost disappear in tears
with arms lain out holding on tight...

You'll realize nothing exists in full
alone with an empty host laying in fear
and those arms are holding nothing...

every...

night.

I can feel your heart beat under my palm
my mind finally goes calm
while you fall asleep
under my wings
things that were previously done
don't need to be spoken of
I can almost taste that skin of yours
so fair
I can smell the coconut air
I can choke on your hair in the night
and I'd be alright with this
I could take it around my fist just the same
play a game
or just lay here and sing your name.
Wrestling the invisible line that separates our flesh
wanting more but nothing less
I couldn't wait for that moment when it came
you
me
a fluid wreck
a liquid so sweet
don't say thank you
nor apologize
I'm so amazed, lover, to be with you
to be alive.

I've helped you help me process my addiction
your conviction to your faith
or lack
my conviction with the law
the smack
the tall walls fall around
I have found myself on many grounds
your voice rang no sound
all the evil within
cut away without forsaking your skin
sin in complex ****** addiction
in addition additional additions conveyed
swept away
easy
not ******
saves my day
I speak with nothing in the way
convey my wish for more has been gone or delayed
relayed admissions of guilt
of the many tables I have tilted
still I have my bouts
doubts
God?
Can you help this ******* out?
hurdling hurdles under me feet
can He feel this beat?
Stumbling upon piles and lost at the four way
...street...
un-ended
my God is not offended.

My creativity has created this creation.
The outcome of my creation reflects only to the Creator.
The inner Narrator narrates a repetitive monologue.
Believe me, I've seen the films, and I've read that ******* blog.
Long logging of nights.
Internal.
External.
Fights.
Anger lasts.
I employed that past to take power away from fear.
Aware now of being here.
Consciousness.
Humbleness.
This doesn't come from admission.
Remission of a previous mission.
My dispositions constriction from speaking up.
**** that.
That cup.
That rig.
Spoon.
***.
Drug.
Love is what I need.
Love is what I give.
Creating only a creation to love to live.

Across my eyes
                Black, sometimes red
    Through the phone lines
          Empty, words unsaid
          Powdered on glass aligned
    Exciting I find
                Into my home
Provide.

You, I,
      polymorphously perverse
           your hand covers my mouth
                   voices adverse
            Liberation, but in reverse.
Submit and admit...
                    Or
               disposed to oppose...
I want to beg, plead,
      submerse and disburse
               I burst in silence for my cursed thirst
             first, be more covert,
        I'd prefer if we
                  don't
                                       converse
I'll sing you your pleasure without
            a
                 single
                          verse.

This ****** garbage I put on the screen. Screaming for some sort of definition of what I am. What I feel. Fear  - what I say. Said.
Tears that are like fire drops bleeding down my salty cheeks. Too pale to see the Sun. To weak to see my son. Develop - Grow. Live.
This mistaken luck has been put on a microphone. Grabbing it -- to drop it. I murdered those words. I killed this mistaken life. Left.
Explode your lyrical database on my inverted abdomen - woo me. Her. You don't seem to take notes on the spherical (re)cycle that drives your automated mobile. To nowhere. But here.
******* lover. Or did I? Did I ever... or do you always?
Tough.

A favorite color, too bright for my eyes,  a
  favorite food.

A fruit left longing for a rhythm
   a rhyme.

Sit down and ***** with rinds under nails
  smelly.

Citrus acid and sweet juicyness drips down
   my hands.